


Holiday Tea at the Diogenes

by DonnesCafe



Series: Christmas Visitations with Wedding Interludes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherhood, Christmas Party, Did I say I'm loving on Mycroft, F/M, Friendship, Janine reconsiders, M/M, More Cowbell... or tea, Mycroft plots, a bit fluffy, post-HLV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DonnesCafe/pseuds/DonnesCafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft invites Janine to join him for tea at the Diogenes Club. The game's afoot...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Tea at the Diogenes

_Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:_  
 _Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:_  
 _Then, heigh-ho, the holly!_  
 _This life is most jolly._  


~~William Shakespeare, “Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind” from _As You Like It,_ c 1600  


~~~~~  


The sleek black car drew up in front of the Diogenes Club. 

“’Ta, Jimmy.” Since he had picked her up in Sussex and driven her all the way to London, she felt they should be on a first-name basis. 

“My pleasure, Ms. Brady. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.” 

“You can’t call me Janine?” 

“Sorry, miss. Mr. Holmes wouldn’t approve.” 

“Ah, well. But he’s not the boss of me, now, is he?” She saw a slight crinkling around Jimmy’s eyes in the rear view. 

“I’m sure he’s not, miss. But he is the boss of me. It’s just on 4:00 now.” 

Well, it wouldn’t do to keep Myc waiting, she supposed. He’d been handsome about the car. He had called her himself, asked her to tea like a gentleman, offered to send a car for her, which car would then take her ‘round London to do all her last-minute Christmas shopping, a room at the Connaught or Hotel 41 if she preferred something more trendy, and a ticket to any West End show she cared to name. In spite of the fact that he was a Holmes, she found herself warming to him. 

Jimmy came around and opened the door for her. A few fat, white flakes of snow were drifting down on the cobbled drive. The white doors to the club sported fir wreaths with discrete tartan bows. Festive, but not flashy. Before she could put hand to handle, the door opened. An aged hulk of a man, bald as an egg and in morning clothes, eyed her. 

“Please come in miss,” he quavered, casting what she was sure was a disapproving eye on her. “Mr. Holmes is waiting in the private parlor.” She followed him into a grand foyer, festooned with holly and ivy. Real, she was sure. 

He led her to the second door on the right, opened it, and bowed. “Miss….,” he said faintly and with a palsied gesture indicated that she was to go in. He closed the door after her. As she entered, Mycroft Holmes stood and came around from the other side of a table laden with china, silver, and a tiered tray of goodies. 

“Miss Brady.” Mycroft extended his hand. “Thank you for coming all this way. It was good of you.” 

She had heard buckets from Sherl about him, of course, but she had never actually seen himself. He was taller than Sherlock, older by a few years, different coloring. He was even more expensively and exquisitely dressed. Same pale skin and cool, assessing gaze. 

“So, who’s the old gargoyle, then, and what did I do to ruin his day?” 

He released her hand. “Ah, Barrow. Barrow is an institution. You should be honored that he himself came out to greet you. He rarely does nowadays.” 

He gestured her over to the table, pulled out a chair, and seated her. So, he was the polite Holmes. 

“Barrow is at least as old as the Holy Ghost. You are a matter of both disapproval and curiosity to him. Not many women come to the Diogenes even now.” He sat in the chair opposite her. 

“But we’re allowed, right?” 

“Oh, yes. China or India?” 

She got a choice? “India, please.” 

"Milk?" She nodded. He poured milk, then tea, and indicated the sugar. He carefully selected two lumps for himself and stirred them in. She did the same. He smiled at her. 

“Yes, women are allowed, although not, I fear, welcomed. Winston started it when he insisted on inviting the Princess Elizabeth for tea before the coronation. Be that as it may, you are welcomed by me.” 

And, she heard, that is all that bloody well counts. Here or almost anywhere else. 

He lifted a holly-sprigged china tea plate and silver tongs. “What may I serve you? The chicken-salad sandwiches are always delicious, as are the salmon. No watercress this time of year, I’m afraid.” 

“Both to start. ‘Ta very much.” He served her, took a couple of small sandwiches for himself, and bit delicately into one. 

“And just why is it I’m here, if you don’t mind my asking? Not that I don’t appreciate the car and the room and the tea and all. I was ready for a trip to London, so it worked out for the best.” 

Mycroft lifted his cup, took a sip, and considered. “I suppose Sherlock has described me as an ogre.” Charmingly, and unexpectedly, he made a subdued ogre face behind his tea cup. The ogre face conveyed nuances: that the ogre was both more intelligent than the normal ogre and largely misunderstood. So, both the boys had their own sorts of charm, thought Janine. Damn. Watch it, girl. 

“He did that. British government, powerful, nosey-parker, managing, smart as paint. But I’ve learned to take what your muppet of a brother said with more than a grain of salt. So what’s true?” 

“Oh, most of that in one fashion or another.” Mycroft took another bite and regarded her. 

“But not an ogre, I’m guessing.” 

“No, Miss Brady, not an ogre. At least when I can help it. And neither is my brother.” 

It was her turn to take a bite. She chewed deliberately and swallowed. Put the delicate linen napkin to her lips. “No?” 

“No. Although nothing can excuse what he did to you. I am more sorry than I can say. Sherlock…,” 

She interrupted him. “Acted the maggot, good and proper, he did. But you shouldn’t have to apologize for him.” 

“But it was in some part my fault. I… perhaps… miscalculated. I didn’t take Magnussen seriously enough soon enough. Because Sherlock thought Magnussen had me cowed or fooled, he hatched the scheme he did. Unfortunately that involved you. And there’s more to it than that. Sherlock’s childhood was not a happy one, and I am also partly responsible for that. Not a conversation to have over tea, but perhaps another time. All I will say now is that I am sincerely sorry for my part in what happened.” 

Well, she thought, interesting. She hadn’t expected to like Mycroft, but she did. “Myc… Can I call you Myc?” 

“Certainly. It’s all in the family.” 

“What?” The word "family" had disrupted her train of thought. She could almost see layers of thought, like clouds over his head, only some of which were actually being discussed. 

“Oh, you can ignore at least half of what I say,” he smiled. “And at least three-quarters of anything Sherlock might say. Yes, please call me Myc. May I call you Janine?” 

“Sure. Anyway, apology accepted. Magnussen was a piece of work. And Sherl is a gimp. But I’m beginning to think I might like you. Here.” She handed him her plate. “What are those things with the raspberries?” 

He selected two tiny raspberry tarts, a miniature mince pie, and a small slice of the cook’s always excellent bûche de Noël. He passed them over. “More tea?” She nodded. He poured. 

“My brother may ask you to a Christmas party I’m giving for the family. If he does, I would like to ask you to consider accompanying him.” 

“Like that’s ever going to happen! Why in the name of Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph would I do that?” And there was the word “family” again. What was the man up to? If he thought she was going to date Sherlock again, he was barking mad. But if she was honest with herself, and she usually was, why had she come if she hadn’t sort of slightly missed the wanker? Or at least been curious? It wasn’t just for the trip to London, although she did miss London. Sussex was pretty but quiet. 

“Because it might be a good party?" Mycroft asked. When he smiled with his eyes, he really looked... nice. Not like the British Government on stilts at all. "Because there will be Beluga and vintage Dom Pérignon? Because I employ one of the best cooks in London? Because London is more festive than Sussex? Because there will be family drama? If I do say so, Holmes family gatherings are rare but usually interesting.” 

“You’re quite funny, aren't you? Do most people realize that?” 

“Very few.” 

“You have a plan, don’t you, Myc?” 

“I always have a plan, Janine.” He nibbled at a small shortbread cookie in the shape of a tree. 

“And you see things most people don’t see.” 

“Hmm.” Mycroft sipped his tea. Janine sipped hers. 

She set her cup down and sat back in her chair. “I’ve enjoyed the tea and the craic. But just between you and me, can we cut any further horseshite and level with each other?” 

“Certainly,” said Mycroft. He sat down his cup. “Two of the many things I like about you are your intelligence and your directness.” 

“You don’t know me. You’ve never met me before today.” 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Janine turned red. Sherlock had said something about omniscience and surveillance. 

“I know Sherlock likes you and respects you, in spite of the fact that he acted like a thirteen year old yahoo. I in no way want to minimize what he did. However, I believe my brother is more than his considerable intellect and his considerably problematic and undisciplined actions. I think you believe this as well.” 

“And supposing I did? I would never let him treat me that way again.” 

“I’m not asking you to. I only wanted to tell you that the events of the last couple of years seem to be having some effect. Sherlock still likes to think of himself as a cold, intellectual being above the fray of ordinary relationships, in spite of a good deal of evidence to the contrary. In truth, he is like a large, clumsy puppy that doesn’t know that his paws can hurt or that his tail can wreck the china while he is sniffing in the other direction.” 

She snorted. Then she saw something in his eyes. “Ah, now. You love him, don’t you?” 

“I have always loved my brother. Miss Brady…. Janine, I don’t know if _you_ can love my brother, but I think that eventually loving him might be worth it. Would, in fact, probably be worth it. He will never react like an ordinary man. He isn’t ordinary. Neither am I. If you want to know what my brother is at his core, what he might become, it’s in the way he plays the violin, not in his deduction games. My brother is a passionate man.” 

”I wouldn’t know, now, would I?” She was still bitter about that. She had sensed the passion, but what she had gotten from Sherlock was artifice. She had never touched his core. To hell with the man. 

Mycroft sighed. “So far it has only come out in his music and in rashness and derring-do of an unusually ill-advised nature. Also, well-hidden, in his regard for and loyalty to his friends. But I have hope. Greg…. Detective Inspector Lestrade told me something that I believe sums him up.” 

“And what was that?” 

“He said he had told John Watson years ago that Sherlock was a great man who, if we were all very lucky, might someday be a good one. Lately we've been seeing more glimpses of the good one.” 

Janine suddenly felt tears well up in her eyes. Damn Sherlock and damn Mycroft, too. She didn’t want to risk being hurt again. But she had seen the promise of that, too, at John and Mary’s wedding and later. 

“Pity he knocked it assways with me, then, the massive gob.” She sniffed. 

“Yes, a great pity.” Mycroft reached into his jacket and passed her a snowy white linen handkerchief. “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m almost finished with what I'd like to say to you. In the spirit of cutting the…shite, would you like to know my plan? I rarely share my plans with anyone.” 

She nodded. In for a penny. 

“You are a beautiful and very intelligent young woman. I would like you to be my sister. Technically, sister-in-law.” 

She lowered the handkerchief and goggled at him. 

“As my associates might tell you, I usually play a long game. I don’t have friends, but I do value family. I have now taken a lover. Detective Inspector Lestrade has moved in with me and we both foresee a very long-term relationship. I have told no-one of this but you, although I think Molly Hooper suspects as well. Also an intelligent and delightful young woman. Greg and I plan to announce our new status at the party.” 

“Get away with you!" she exclaimed. She lifted her cup in congratulation. He lifted his in acknowledgement. 

"So that's the Christmas-party drama?"

“Indeed. Well, that, definitely. With the Holmes family and other variables that may not be the only one." 

She chortled wickedly. "Sherl's gonna be gobsmacked." 

“As you say. Surely that will be worth seeing? Further, I have a very large house, and Greg and I aren’t getting younger. He has no children from his marriage. The idea of developing an extended family around us, including nieces and nephews and honorary nieces and nephews, appeals to us both. We thought we’d start a Christmas tradition of gathering at our home. We both hope that you will manage to forgive my brother and become a part of our lives.” 

She didn't want to have to use the handkerchief again, so she put aside the thought of how touched she was. Instead, she focused on how clever Mycroft was. Sherlock had warned her that he was managing by nature and devious by training. 

“You’re playing a very long game.” 

“Oh, yes. You’ll see. By the way, if Sherlock contacts you, he may tell you about a promise I made him concerning you. If you decide Sherlock isn't worth your while, I'll find you someone else. Part of my job is understanding and evaluating people. When I put my mind to it, I can be an effective matchmaker. I have a large and varied acquaintance to choose from on your behalf. I’ll find you someone else, and I’d still like you to be part of the extended family. What would you prefer? I know at least one elder son in line for a dukedom, a young viscount who is amusing and handsome, any number of spies, a cabinet minister or two. Maybe too old for you, those last ones. I hope you’ll come to my party.” 

“I just may do, and you may turn out to be a handy fella.” 

He had risen to help her from her chair. He bowed slightly. “I live to serve.” 

Sherlock was a git. His brother was charming. Christmas might be fun this year. 

“I saw you reserved two tickets for the West End.” 

“I thought you might want to take a friend.” 

“Would you like to do dinner and a show, Myc?” 

“I would be delighted. Show first, then Corrigans Mayfair I think. Shall I come by the Connaught at 7:00? We could stop by the Champagne Room for a quick drink before we leave for the theatre. Would that suit?” 

“Down to the ground,” she said.

**Author's Note:**

> As far as I could see, Janine is never called by her last name in season 3. I'm calling her Brady, which means 'spirited.' Seemed appropriate. :)


End file.
